


Collected Hamilton Ficlets

by triedunture



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 07:08:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16928751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture





	1. George Washington Holds a Baby

The infant was discovered by scouts sent to patrol the southernmost border of the Army’s encampment. It had been left naked and squalling on the banks of a creek on a bed of grasses, and the soldiers felt there was no recourse but to return with the child in hand. They bore this small burden on horseback the four or five miles back to Headquarters, taking turns holding the baby in the crook of an arm while holding their reins one-handed. 

Hamilton was the one to meet them at the door, having heard tell of a woman from a nearby town who had been separated from her child in the chaos of the Army’s movements through that place, and hoping that he could reunite the little one with its proper parent. The child’s cries, however, caused General Washington himself to appear at the threshold as well, his cool, hard gaze taking in the party of scouts, one of which held the sobbing babe at arm’s length, its little feet kicking in the air.

“For god’s sake, give me the child,” Washington said.

The scout handed over the baby as ordered, passing it into Washington’s outstretched hands, but the General was not done with his admonishments. “It was terribly foolish to ride with an infant this small in this fashion,” he said. “What if you had lost your grip? Or the child might have squirmed. You could have trampled it in an instant.”

“Apologies, Your Excellency, but we had no other manner in which to–” 

“On foot would have sufficed.” Washington turned away from the riders with the child cradled in his big hands. “Report to your commanding officer. Dismissed.” 

As the scouts slunk away with their horses, Hamilton cleared his throat. “Sir, I believe I may know where to find the child’s mother. Word of a missing baby has traveled from the nearby town.”

“Then we shall deliver it without delay,” Washington said. “On foot, of course.”

“Ah, of course.” Hamilton watched as the General untied his pale blue sash, which denoted his rank, and swaddled the babe in the soft silk. “I will show you the way, Your Excellency. Unless you would prefer I take the child myself?” 

Washington looked up from the bundle of calming baby in his hands. “Are you very adept at childcare, Hamilton?” he asked with genuine curiosity. 

“Well, sir, babies have seemed quite taken with me in the past.” Then, seeing the hesitation on his General’s face, which seemed to stem from a reluctance to be parted from the infant, Hamilton added, “Then again, you may have some business in town anyway, sir.”

“Yes, exactly.” Washington nodded. “Lead me to this poor mother, Hamilton, so that we might reunite her family.”

They walked for some length until they left camp, leaving a trial of confused, saluting soldiers the entire way. It was difficult for the sight not to draw attention: the General, sashless, striding purposefully with the little babe–hardly a year old if Hamilton was to guess–cradled carefully in his great arms. The child had ceased its wailing and was now cooing softly while reaching its tiny fingers up to tangle in Washington’s frilled cravat. The General either did not notice this or allowed it without sign. 

Hamilton bit his tongue against the questions about Washington’s clear adoration of small children, knowing that such things would not be proper. The man was sterile, said the whispers, rendered completely infertile by the small pox infection of his youth. The scars of that ordeal were just visible at his neck, peeking from the line of his stocks. Hamilton gazed at these marks with a great sadness in his heart; if it were true, it would be very tragic indeed that the man could not have children of his own. 

Washington caught his stare and must have divined its meaning, for he looked down at the child he carried and said, “It was a choice.”

“Your Excellency?” Hamilton was unsure he’d heard correctly. 

“That I had no natural sons or daughters,” Washington said. They now walked along a dusty road into town, empty save for the two–no, three–of them. “I made that decision many years ago.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, sir,” Hamilton said. 

“Heirs of my bloodline; I did not wish to condemn this nation to the same mistakes made throughout history. When I have finished serving this country, that should be the end. Let there never be a string of Washingtons ruling like kings.”

Hamilton blinked at the road ahead, his mind awhirl. “You perceived this necessity…even as a young man, sir?”

“Overly cautious, perhaps. Pompous, even.” Washington gave a dry chuckle. “I endeavor not to regret it.” 

The babe in his arms fussed, and the General held his great hand above the infant’s pinched face, waving his fingers to distract it. The child reached for them and grasped Washington’s thumb. The tiny fingers of the baby could not even encompass the entirety of that digit. 

Hamilton’s heart melted at the sight. “Certainly, sir,” he said. 


	2. Burr & a Riding Crop

Hamilton insists that this piece of evidence is vital to their case, though Burr cannot see the value of showing a jury the riding crop, which is so like every other riding crop he has ever seen and does not, unfortunately, have even the slightest suggestion of blood about its person.

  
“How are we to establish that this is the murder weapon and not our client’s walking stick?” he asks as he continues to pore over the pages littering his desk.

  
“We don’t need to prove that it is, Burr, only that it might be. That is doubt of a reasonable nature, and doubt means my client—”

  
“Our client,” Burr says sharply.

  
“Our client,” Hamilton amends, “goes free.” He swishes the crop through the air experimentally. “It is my belief that this instrument left the wounds on the body. A walking stick doles out welts, not lashes.”

  
“Ah, now you’re an expert on traumatic injury!” Burr shakes his head. “I suppose you are familiar with all types?”

  
“Perhaps not yet.” Hamilton tosses the crop in the air end over end and catches it neatly by its tip, holding the base out to Burr. “Go ahead. Let us see if I’m right.” He stands straight as if to present a better target, crowding close to Burr’s chair.

  
Burr recoils. “I will not strike you, Hamilton! Much as I sometimes wish I could.” This last part he mutters and Hamilton pretends not to hear him.

  
“Come now! How will I win this case if—?”

  
“We must win. The both of us. My god, you’re such an infuriating—” Burr grasps the riding crop and brandishes it once through the air, a sharp hiss. The loop at the tip comes to rest against Hamilton’s cheek, just below his eye, which matches its twin in shocked wideness. For a moment neither of them breathe or speak.

  
“We will purchase a side of pork,” Burr finally says, “and apply the crop to that. It should sufficiently stand in for a man’s flesh.”

  
“A fine plan,” Hamilton murmurs. It is a long moment more before the riding crop leaves his face, grazing slowly down his stocks and waistcoat buttons before falling to Burr’s side.


	3. False Flag Deleted Scene

The goblet nearly slipped from Washington’s nerveless fingers, and it was only by the grace of Providence that he managed to set it aside on a wooden crate before such a thing occurred. “Lafayette, you must repeat yourself,” he said, “for I am certain I have misheard.” It would not be so strange to have done so; the Baron’s party raged about them at a fever pitch, the voices of the very merry and very drunk mingling with the sounds of musicians preparing their instruments. 

“Hamilton is in love with you, sir, and would be yours if only you asked,” Lafayette said again, very calmly. 

“I– You have forgotten Laurens.” Washington looked back to where that man and Hamilton sat together, much too close. “I have it from Hamilton’s own mouth, son. His heart lies with our dear John.” 

Lafayette made a noise of impatient frustration, the very same he exhaled when failing to find the correct English phrase, or when speaking to Lee. “I have overheard a great many things, Your Excellency, and have opportunities to observe where you do not. Trust me in this as you trust me with a good portion of your war: that heart is within your grasp.” He sipped his drink. “Laurens’ too, if it pleases you.”

Now Washington was certain Lafayette was misleading him, which was very ill done. “You jest.”

“I do not!”

Washington looked again at Laurens and Hamilton, catching both their gazes before the two looked away, seeming to confer on other matters across the tent. The rapid succession of drinks he’d imbibed were felt as a throb in his blood. “It seems very unlikely,” he finally said, turning back, “that two such men, young and quite beautiful– Lafayette, they have no reason to love an old man such as myself. If they harbor some affection for my person, surely it is but respect for my station and the fervor with which they fight for our shared cause. I will not twist such innocent things to my advantage.”

“Innocent things!” Lafayette sputtered. “And you think only two!” 

Washington reared back. “Is there another?”

Lafayette, whose bearing always reflected his assured and confident nature, suddenly seemed smaller. He looked away, muttering something in French that Washington could not decipher. 

“My boy, what is the matter?” Washington asked, and dared to reach for Lafayette, placing a hand on the back of his neck in a gesture of comfort much like he’d offered at the dramatic performance so many days ago.

“To hell with it all,” Lafayette said, employing his newest English curse. “If Laurens could say the words–”

“What words? I don’t understand your meaning.”

Lafayette lifted his gaze, his shoulders squaring in a proud, defiant posture. “Sir, I have stated my devotion to you many times. You know this, yes?”

“Yes, of course.” Washington regarded him fondly. Lafayette and his letters tended always toward the effuse. It was the French way, he reasoned. 

“Yet you have never realized, I think, or perhaps I have allowed you labor under a misunderstanding– That is, Your Excellency, I adore you not only as a son does his father, but as Lafayette. Lafayette,” he said swiftly, “who loves you much the way the others must. That is how I know it is not so unlikely, sir, for I too….” He stopped, his tongue searching for the words before finally giving it up. He shrugged. “I too,” he said at last.

“My dear Marquis–” Washington’s eyes widened, his pulse quickening. This was a dream from which he would awake very shortly, he thought. It had to be. 

“And that is why,” Lafayette soldiered onward, “I desire only your complete happiness, which I believe you may find tonight if you find the courage to speak of this to Hamilton.”

“And yourself, Lafayette?” Washington asked. “What of your happiness?” 

“Oh, sir,” he demurred, “it is not of great importance.”

“I disagree.” Washington’s head spun even as it made its plans. It was a matter of tactics, and of tact. If he managed to get this right…. “Is there not a solution that might please all involved?” he asked.

Lafayette smiled as bright and toothy as was possible. “Well, sir,” he said, “in fact, there might be. Are you in the mood to dance tonight?”

Washington shared his smile, though he picked up his glass of ale to hide it for the most part. “You know I always am.” 


End file.
